by Kirsty Ferry
He came up behind her, just close enough to hear her swear under her breath.
Then she raised her voice and spoke again: ‘Yes. Yes, there is.’ She sat back on her heels, turned to him and looked up. ‘I can see something else in there. But it’s definitely not a body.’
There was certainly no body, but there was something else. Well – three somethings.
Elodie reached her hand in, and she knew she was screwing up her face and holding her breath. After all, the tomb had been sealed up for over two hundred years. That was over two hundred years’ worth of spiders, spiders’ descendants, desiccated spider corpses, spiders’ horrible cobwebby homes … and so on. Yuck. But the worst thing was not the spiders; it was the musty, dank, fetid air that was seeping out of the tomb. If she hadn’t felt sick enough beforehand, she did now.
Plus, there was the small matter of kneeling in a puddle with a steady stream of water gushing onto her back through the hole in the roof, which made her shiver and shake. She leaned further into the monument and made a conscious effort to relax and breathe, trying not to think about the fact that she was now inside a tomb, which was something she’d never anticipated doing while she was still alive. Her fingers closed over the square edge of an object and drew it out slowly.
It seemed to be a leather-bound book and her heart began to beat faster. ‘Maybe this is her diary?’ she said, more to herself than to Alex, but as she brought it into daylight and wiped her forefinger over the front, she saw the gold blocking that declared it to be a Bible.
‘Careful with that!’ whispered Alex. ‘If it’s been sealed up for years, the air might make it disintegrate. We need something to protect it. Hang on.’
Elodie wasn’t quite sure what to do, so she thrust it back inside the tomb, just in case, and watched Alex over her shoulder. He looked around, and his eyes lingered on a walnut and glass display case housing a Victorian altar cloth. One of his great-great-somethings had embroidered it. Elodie couldn’t remember the relationship, but knew the lady had a pretty name.
‘Sorry, Polly.’ Alex did this incredible karate sort of roundhouse kick that brought his foot down on the glass, crushed the table and let the cloth tumble out. He did look rather impressive. Margaret had told her he’d done some martial arts training during the period when Elodie lived in London, but this was the first time she’d seen him in action with it. She regarded him with renewed respect.
Alex caught the material before it hit the floor and hurried back over to her. He shook it out to get the dust and little cubes of glass off, because, apparently, it was a special sort of glass that didn’t end up in shards. The little embroidered angels looked like they were fluttering. ‘Put the Bible in here. We’ll wrap it up and hope for the best.’
‘I hope wrapping it up is enough! I’ve never had to do anything like that before.’ Her voice was muffled as she leaned forward and explored the tomb again. ‘Here. There’s something else on the bottom.’ She came into contact with an object that resembled a small pen, about the size of the ones you put in your handbag. It was freezing cold, and as she gripped it more securely, she felt an intricate shape at one end.
‘It’s a key!’ She pulled it out eagerly.
‘Interesting! Wonder what it’s for?’ Alex took the key and laid it gently on Polly’s altar cloth, then hunkered down next to her. He peered inside the tomb, his head close to hers, blonde and dark hair tangling together. It felt curiously nice and she could feel the warmth coming from his body – which was very welcome as she was still kneeling in an ever-deepening puddle and was half inside a cold, empty, marble tomb and her chest was beginning to hurt. She shifted position so she was leaning against him a little and he didn’t complain.
‘I’ll see if there’s anything else, then I’ll have to get out of here.’ Elodie swept a hand around the void. There was nothing until she placed her hand on an item that was hard and cold and metallic. And lethal.
She felt the colour drain from her face and the rain was forgotten as her stomach knotted and she began to shake.
‘Alex.’ Her voice was no more than a croaky whisper. ‘I think I’ve found a gun.’
At first Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘A gun?’ he asked. ‘In there?’
‘I think so,’ she said and leaned back. Then she sort of wobbled, lost her balance and sat down fully in all that water. She didn’t even flinch, but as her face was the colour of the marble she was surrounded by, he shouldn’t have been surprised. ‘I don’t want to touch it again.’
He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Want me to do it?’
She nodded and shuffled out of the way. ‘Please.’
It was Alex’s turn to lean into the dank interior and he didn’t enjoy it much. There should have been a body in there, and if Georgiana, or what was left of her, wasn’t in plain sight, had she somehow been washed out the back? He paused. A couple of hundred years ago, up in Newcastle upon Tyne, the cemetery walls of All Saints church had collapsed. The rumour was that there were coffins tumbling out onto the main road and bodies were littering the streets. It was not a scene he particularly wanted to replicate at Hartsford Hall. The tourists would certainly want a refund then.
The back was off Georgiana’s tomb anyway and, cursing under his breath, he leaned out and peered around the back.
But, thank God, she wasn’t there.
He cast a glance at Elodie, who had dragged the altar cloth onto her knees and was wrapping everything up tidily. She looked up and caught his eye. He was rewarded with a little smile.
‘Did you get it?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. I just had a horrible image in my mind that she had escaped the back way.’
‘Ugh!’ She shivered.
Alex had to agree.
Then he reached back in, grabbed the gun and brought it out. ‘Got it!’ He turned it around carefully in his hands.
It was very definitely a gun – no, a pistol – and it had something that looked like ornately carved ivory on the handle. And as he held it, he knew that not only did it look like ivory, it was ivory. And if he could look inside the barrel with a magnifying glass it would have something else distinctive in there too.
‘It really is a gun!’ said Elodie in a whisper, as if it was somehow sacrilegious to acknowledge that in the church.
‘Not just any gun. It’s a duelling pistol. Eighteenth century, ivory handle, wooden barrel. And it’ll have scratch rifling in the barrel – spiral marks on the inside to stabilise the spin on the shot. This would have been one of the most accurate duelling pistols out there.’
‘Gosh. I’m impressed. How do you know that?’
‘Because the other one from the set is at the Hall, but we never knew where this one was – Elodie? Elodie! Are you all right?’
Preview
Watch for Me by Moonlight
Chapter Three
Georgiana knew, strangely, that the man on the horse spoke the truth – he wouldn’t hurt her. Her heart pounding, she did as she was bid. She imagined doing anything he desired, if he asked her to do it in that exact voice. As she came out onto the top step of the coach, the man dismounted. He walked over to her, and she looked into his eyes, their faces almost at the same height; he was much, much taller than her. An imposing figure, who held his black-gloved hand out to help her. His pistol was still trained on the coachman, and Jasper was still insensible. The horse whinnied softly and Georgiana paused, looking over to it.
‘Blaze won’t hurt you either. Come.’ The man bowed low as her fingers connected with his, and something ignited deep inside her, an explosion in her heart, and she started. The man’s eyes flared again and she felt the warmth of his hand through his leather gloves and her kid ones. His gaze never left hers as she stepped onto the ground.
‘Now, pray tell me who this young man is. He seems rather tired.’
The man looked down at Jasper and the corners of his eyes crinkled in the golden light of the coach lamps. Ge
orgiana guessed he was smiling. She dipped down, ostensibly to check her brother was still breathing. Her fingers brushed across his pistol, briefly considering whether she should take her chance and snatch it, firing a round off at the highwayman; but as if some power other than herself was guiding her, she decided against it.
‘That’s my brother, Sir. Jasper Kerridge, Viscount Somersby. Our father is—’
‘The Earl of Hartsford. I know of him. However, what I have heard is not, I am afraid very complimentary. So you are Lady Georgiana Kerridge? It is common knowledge that he has the prettiest daughter in the county. I would have guessed that you – please, stop right there, Sir!’ The man directed his attention to the coachman who was trying to slide unnoticed down from the driving seat. ‘I told you that you need not fear me, but should you persist in moving around in such a fashion, I shall have to take action. Come over here.’
‘No!’ Georgiana grasped his hand tightly. ‘Please – don’t hurt him!’ The coachman was one of the nicest men in the stables, always happy and with a kind word for Georgiana and Lucy.
‘I won’t. I’m simply going to ask if he would step inside the coach and wait.’
‘I’ll do whatever you ask, Sir.’ The coachman glanced at Georgiana. ‘Just please, I beg you, don’t hurt the lady.’
The highwayman lowered the gun. ‘She is very safe. Now, if you wouldn’t mind – thank you, my good man. Thank you so much.’
The highwayman waited until the man was inside the coach, then closed the door firmly. He turned the handle and, jamming it shut with a branch, ensured the coach door was locked. ‘Usually, I tie them to a convenient tree, but in this particular instance, he’s safer here. He’s old. Your brother will be the one I tie up this evening.’
The man leant down and took hold of one of Jasper’s unresponsive wrists. He produced a piece of rope from around his own waist and briskly tied Jasper up, binding his arms to a coach wheel. ‘Hopefully that will keep Viscount Somersby in one place long enough for me to make your acquaintance properly. Let us take a walk.’ He indicated the moon. ‘It’s as bright as day, don’t you think?’
Georgiana put her hands behind her back and shook her head. ‘I don’t want to leave them.’
‘I understand, but we won’t go far. Look there’s a clearing up ahead. Please, would you do me the honour of a moonlit stroll, Lady Georgiana?’ He bowed again, and, spellbound, she found herself curtseying back. He offered his arm and she took it. Then they walked the few paces towards the clearing. ‘Here, I can see you fully.’ He indicated the lack of branches above their heads where the moonlight was flooding through. He studied her face. She was so close to him, she could feel the warmth of him through his cloak, smell the outdoors and the frost on him, see the dark lashes which framed his eyes.
‘You’re shivering,’ he murmured. ‘Please – take this.’ He shed his cloak and placed it around her shoulders. ‘Such a perfect treasure should not even feel the smallest chill and I believe it is beginning to snow. But I must demand one thing before I leave you. Would you dance with me? An Allemande, I think. Then we shall go our separate ways and I will not detain you any longer.’
‘An Allemande?’ Georgiana blinked. ‘Here? But there’s no music.’
‘No, not that we can hear. But we have our own music.’
Georgiana hesitated, just for a moment, then took the man’s hand. She believed him, she truly did.
‘Close your eyes, if it helps,’ he whispered, leaning towards her. ‘Feel it in the earth beneath our feet, in the skies above our head. In the light that shines upon us from the heavens.’
‘But if I close my own eyes, I cannot see yours.’
‘Ah, but then I can study you and remember the curve of your cheek, and every curl that escapes from your hair.’
‘Very pretty words indeed.’ Georgiana smiled as the man began to trace out the steps, leading her in the dance. She had spent an entire evening in a ballroom, but this was different. Every dance before this midnight one faded into insignificance; every flirtatious comment seemed insipid and forced. This was dangerous and mysterious and yes, she could feel the power of the earth and the heavens, and magic she had yet to discover, embracing her and wrapping her up in sensations she had never felt so intensely or so deeply before.
‘I’ve never danced with a stranger,’ whispered Georgiana, entranced by the presence of this man. His shirt gleamed white in the starlight and his eyes reflected the constellations a thousandfold. The snowflakes began to fall faster, like whispers, and they settled around them and on them as they danced, and she felt they were like angels’ kisses.
‘Neither have I.’ There was that smile again in his voice. ‘This isn’t how I envisaged spending my evening. I should have been on my merry way by now, my pockets loaded with your family gold. However, I cannot lie. This is far more preferable. In fact—’ He stopped talking, his face and his lips very close to hers as the dance brought them towards one another. She leaned forwards, arching towards him, her eyes closing and—
‘Unhand my sister!’ Jasper’s voice penetrated her world of dancing and moonlight.
The stranger pulled away from her and shouted back. ‘Do I look as if I am harming her? Rather, I think we are both enjoying the melody.’ He kept his face turned away from Jasper, guiding Georgiana to move with him.
She was unable to look away from the highwayman. There was a connection as old as the earth itself, drawing them together; the ancient magic which lingered in the woods was there, in her very spirit, that evening. Twin souls who had been lost and were now found again, brought together by something beyond her ken.
His eyes sparked. ‘Do you feel it too?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ She raised her hand tentatively and tugged at his mask. He didn’t resist. She pulled it free from his face and it was as if she was staring at her very heart. He was as handsome as she had dared to believe; his nose straight, his mouth sensual, his eyes black in the moonlight and framed with those long, dark lashes. His cheekbones were sharp, and his face clean-shaven. She reached up and removed his tricorne hat, still looking into his eyes. His hair was dark and tousled and tied back with a black ribbon; one lock fell across his forehead. When she replaced his hat, her hands trembled, and she couldn’t help but move the lock away from his forehead as she did so. He smiled; and there was a sense of recognition there that she couldn’t fathom.
Before she could process this thought further, Jasper’s voice broke the spell, louder this time: ‘I said, unhand her, you damnable dog!’
Then a starburst of light pierced the night and a sharp crack shattered the silence.
Georgiana screamed as the smell of gunpowder penetrated the air and a plume of smoke whispered up towards the tree tops.
‘Dear God!’ That was her brother, sounding startled and shaken. Jasper was still sitting by the coach wheel, but his pistol was some distance away; the weapon was bent and destroyed by the highwayman’s bullet.
‘How could you? Thank God you missed!’ cried Georgiana. ‘Oh, Jasper!’ She turned to run to him, but the highwayman still had hold of her hand and he held her firmly.
‘I didn’t miss. I aimed for the pistol. I told you, I mean none of you any harm. I simply wanted to stop him harming me. You can’t blame a man for that! I’ve heard your brother is partial to a duel.’ He raised her hand and kissed it, then released her. ‘Go – he’s quite safe.’ He whistled and Blaze whinnied in response, then came trotting over to him.
‘But …’ Georgiana stared at him, still wearing his cloak.
‘I’d delope before he shot me in a duel!’ called Jasper. ‘I swear I would. You devil!’ He meant, of course, that he would deliberately shoot away – into the air or into the ground, thus ending the duel before it even started. It was a technique Georgiana knew meant that the opponent was beneath his notice. But there was a hint of admiration in Jasper’s voice. He was blustering, that was all. He was as impressed as he’d ever been.
&n
bsp; The highwayman laughed and mounted Blaze.
‘Your cloak, Sir.’ Georgiana took it from her shoulders and handed it up to him.
‘Ben. Please, call me Ben.’ He leaned down and took her chin in his hand. He tilted her face up to his and kissed her. ‘May I see you again?’ he whispered. ‘I’m often this way on my travels. Work, you know.’
His eyes glinted with mischief, and Georgiana found herself nodding. ‘Yes. When?’
His voice dropped even further. ‘Watch for me by moonlight. I shall come to you and I shall find you.’
‘On the next full moon?’
‘Yes. If I can wait that long.’ He smiled down at her.
‘Where?’
He sat up and gazed across the countryside, towards Hartsford Hall. ‘The Faerie Bridge. At midnight. Be there?’
‘I promise.’
‘As do I.’
He pulled his mask back on and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks; and, as if it knew it had to look as impressive as possible, it reared and pawed the air, then leaped off into the night.
Georgiana watched him disappear.
Her lips burned where he had kissed them.
All Elodie could do was stare at Alex. She could still smell the gun powder and hear the sound of the horse’s hooves.
‘I think I need to get out of here after all.’ She knew her voice was faint.
‘Of course. Come on. I shouldn’t be sitting here talking about pistols. D’you want to come back to the Hall with me and get dried out a bit?’
‘Yes. I‘d quite like to leave, if there’s nothing else inside?’ She looked back at the empty tomb and shivered. She was soaked to the skin and the church wasn’t the healthiest place to linger. Her lungs were threatening to break their tentative peace treaty anyway. ‘I wish we had seen her in there, you know? That would have been better than not knowing where she was.’ The image of the highwayman flashed across her mind again and she blinked, feeling faint. Alex’s voice seemed to come from a long way away – it was like he was talking to her from another world.
